Whacked
by dreemun
Summary: An alternate ending to a possible ending to “Myst III  Exile”... COMPLETE
1. Part 1: Of shields and switching

**Summary**: An alternate ending to a possible ending to "Myst III - Exile"...

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Myst or any of its characters.

**Spoiler warning**: You should have played "Myst III - Exile" entirely before you read.

**Author's note**: The alternate ending of the game "Myst III - Exile" this story is based on does really exist. When Saavedro is waiting for you to switch the shields, go down and up the stairs to the second tapestry room (the lower one, where you can find the Tomahna book). Do it twice. And see...

I promise Saavedro won't use his _hammer_ on you. ;-)

Also, if you wait a little between each time you go down and up (not too long, or he might loose patience!), Saavedro speaks to you. It is those lines I used here (I hope I didn't get them wrong).

**Billions of thanks** to **Aurélie** from the Narayani Collective for her corrections!

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**Whacked**

**_Part 1: Of shields and switching._**

-

Something was wrong.

Something was really, _really_ wrong.

He hadn't given back Releeshahn to me, and I was supposed to drop the shield? Without any guarantee to have it back?

The guy was craving to go, obviously ready to jump into the gondola at the first flicker of the ice wall. His entire stance, all his reckless prowling shouted that. Why would he bother taking the time to hand something back?

Actually, thinking of his journal, there were indeed great odds that he didn't plan to hand it back at all. His grudge was too strong. He was thirsty for vengeance - who could blame him? - but this still made him dangerous...

I didn't dare approach him, but I had no choice.

The grill felt like some kind of securing barrier, and I went for it. I addressed him through the woven branches.

"Err... look. I'll – I'll open the shield for you. I will. Only - that book, Releeshahn..."

He didn't seem to hear or notice me, going on with his prowling. When he cast me a glance, my voice faltered. There was too much madness in those eyes, and no place left for reason. He shook Releeshahn pointedly, then jabbed his chin in the direction of the lever and resumed pacing feverishly.

I sighed in frustration. This couldn't work, this couldn't be right.  
It was a gut feeling, that instinct I always had for those things.  
I felt, I could _tell_ I must _not_ switch the shields.

Resolutely, I went through the door of the first shield and faced him.

He wasn't looking at me, now cradling Atrus's book and rocking on his feet. I had to get him to listen.

"Saavedro... listen to me."

He lifted his gaze, and for a moment I thought he would.

"Saa-"

"_What_ are you doing?"

Flinching, I stood my ground.

"Look. I've got a deal."

"Go back inside, and drop the barrier."

"I-"

"_Do it_. Or I _swear_ I'll let go of this book!"

He extended his hand, holding Releeshahn over the edge of the platform. Madness was creeping in his voice, and I feared he would do it. I stepped back, panicked. My feet found steps there, and I must admit I felt like running for it.

Deciding to give Saavedro (and myself) a few seconds to calm down, I went down and cast an eye.

And there it was.

A Tomahna book.

I was saved.

That was, if I could get Releeshahn back... Drat.

Fighting the urge to open the book and link away, I went back upstairs. The Tomahna book had given me courage, as well as an idea. The inner shield must be big enough to block that stair as well...

I found Saavedro waiting, and hoped that he was more bent on listening now. At least, he wasn't threatening to throw away Releeshahn any more. I tried to make my voice steady and persuasive.

"Saavedro. Here is my deal. You go down there, and-"

"What... you don't think I am serious about destroying Releeshahn?"

He had extended his arm again. I did not waver.

"...and _put it down_ beside the Tomahna book. This way neither of us will touch them before I have switched-"

"_Drop_ the barrier, or I _will_ - _drop_ - _this_!"

Not a word.

He hadn't listened to a _word_ of what I was saying.

Fine.

If he was to cling to his book, then I would cling to 'mine'.

I rushed downstairs again and picked up the Tomahna book.

I sure needed his more than he needed mine at the moment, but mine could be used, not his. He had Releeshahn, I had a way out.

I had hardly been given any time to think though, and '_intuition_' only told me I couldn't let him hold the higher ground. I only thought of making us even.

Naturally, there were quite a few major flaws in that crappy reasoning of mine, as I was soon to find out.

Not a second after I had climbed the last step, as he glimpsed the green cover between my hands, a bloodcurdling expression of mingled fear and hatred distorted his wary face. With an exclamation of rage, he hurled himself forwards, raising the heavy, padlocked Releeshahn book with both hands.

I never made it to the control room.

Anyway, what would I have done there?

...So bad...

...aching all over...

I feel sick.

Really sick, nauseated.

Yet I won't retch, I don't even have that much strength... and my head would explode.

...I cringe, shift slightly in the dark, then cringe again, gasping at the burst of pain in my skull.

As I try hard to stay immobile, the maddening pain subsides slowly, very slowly, then turns back into an even, rhythmical pounding.

My eyes are wet. I do not dare open them. Where am I?...

Some time passes. A long time, it seems to me.

But I really don't know how much, whether minutes or hours or days. I must have slipped in and out of consciousness.

The pounding has somehow receded. It is still strong, but feels duller. Maybe it is getting better, or maybe I got used to it.

The ground feels hard.

I crack an eye open - and close it immediately, as a whitish, blinding light drills through my very head. As soon as the pain recedes, though, I shield my eyes closely with one hand and open them again, squinting.

The lantern. It is the woven lantern, I caught its blaze directly.

I...

...I am still on the gondola platform.

It is dark by now.

And _both_ shields are up.

Drat, drat, drat, drat, drat.

But wait.

Why did he do that? Why not... just finish me off, or dump me from the platform, like he threatened to do with Releeshahn? There must be more to come, then, he must have some kind of plan for me...

I shudder at the thought.

Knowing him, I had probably better dump myself headfirst right now. Ah, well, there will be plenty of time for that later.

All around, the tiny ticking and crackling noises of the ice-like shields fill the silence of the still air.

Rolling on my back, I look around. No sign of that skull-smashing nutter anywhere. He must have bolted himself inside his bunker, as before. Like it mattered now. I plunge a hand in my shoulder bag, just to confirm what I already know. The Tomahna book is no longer with me.

Anyway, I wouldn't link.

Like I wouldn't have linked earlier, _can you hear that, you paranoid, crackpot old-..._

Well. It must have looked like it, for sure.

Stupid me. _That's_ what I should have done, to begin with. It is so obvious, now. Trapped between the shields, he would have had no choice but to give the book. Then it would have been so easy to just free him and go...

Trapped?... Now, is that for sure?

Is there _really_ no way out of here?

The ground is starting to feel really cold, I might as well start trying right now. While he's not here to watch...

Gingerly, I roll on my side and crouch. The pounding increases a little, but is rapidly back to normal. I slowly get up. Apart from a slight dizziness, everything seems to be OK. Sort of. Well, operational, at any rate.

Tentatively feeling the throbbing lump on my head, I look around.

The staircase is blocked alright, as I had expected it to be. The only promising way is that woven grille.

What was really blocking Saavedro here all those years was the outer shield, which code he didn't know. He _did_ know how to get past the _first_ shield though, so he didn't need to try and see if there was a way past that grille. He looked surprised when he realised the shields could be switched but not both dropped at the same time, he probably didn't know, or didn't remember. So maybe there _is_ a way through that grille...

After ten good minutes trying all possible ways to squeeze myself through each and every twisted gap left between the branches, I have to admit that it really is too tight. All I managed is to tear my clothes here and there and get a good deal of prickling scratches all over myself.

Frustrated, I slam my hands on the grille and it creaks slightly, not giving way by an inch.

Some of these branches don't look so thick, though. They might be breakable, or maybe I could find a way to bend them, to pull them slightly apart... They are just branches after all. And not really intricately woven...

It turns out they can't be bent. No matter how hard I strain or hit, they remain perfectly in place. They seem to be as dry as age-old dead branches, and yet... yet they won't break either.

Once again, I grip them and throw all my weight in a kick, on that spindly one in the middle which seems to be mocking me.

It doesn't yield or even stretch, or indeed budge at all from the rest of the entwined stuff - instead my foot slips on its somewhat smooth surface, so that my whole leg punches through the gap and my body crashes painfully on the grille.

Head pounding again, panting, I remain immobile for an instant, probably looking like some really stupid fly stuck on a spider's web.

Then a voice makes me start.

"You know, I _do_ feel insulted."

_To be continued..._


	2. Part 2: Of psychology and trapped squees

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Myst or any of its characters.

**Spoiler warning**: You should have played "Myst III - Exile" entirely before you read.

**More thanks** to **Aurélie** from NC for her corrections. English isn't my first language, so I owe her quite a lot.

And of course, **thanks** to all my kind reviewers! You keep me writing, people! (and Sugary dear... I hope that _I_ effectively keep _you_ writing... >:-) Bwahaha.)

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**Whacked**

**_Part 2: Of psychology and trapped squees._**

-

I jerk my head upwards - pointlessly, since you can't see the upper platform at all from where I stand. I didn't hear him get out of his bunker.

Then again, I must have been making quite a racket myself - which is probably what drove him out. It is night, after all - yet somehow I doubt he was sleeping.

"... Lattice isn't _that_ weak, my friend, and besides..."

He seems to be heading for the stairs, from what I hear. I hastily struggle to pull back my leg from the gap, recolting more scratches in the process.

"... if it was so easy to get past the first shield, do you really think I would have asked for your _help_?"

I hate that grin, I only used to find it foreboding, but now...

"Really... you overestimate my trust in you. I won't make the same mistake twice, _friend of Atrus_."

He comes close to the woven branches, his shadowed face eerily lit by the sole glow of the lanterns in the night; and I recoil a few more steps, unable to hold back a glance at the padlocked book in his arms -and the hammer in his belt. Now I _know_ he would use it.

His grin widens at this, though it is mirthless.

"Ah, yes... paranoia is quite infectious, when one feels _trapped_, isn't it? You will see it is not the only thing... But fear not, I needn't use this now, do I?"

He clutches the grille with one hand, his thumb rubbing it almost fondly as he gives a tiny chuckle. He looks wary and worn, deep dark shadows outlining his haunted eyes, and suddenly his grin vanishes. His expression is dead serious as he studies me sternly.

"What a pity... How much simpler things would have been, if you had just switched those shields back then, wouldn't they? Right now, I would be back home, and you, enjoying the praises of dear old Atrus, back in Tomahna – only you wouldn't."

I open my mouth to protest, incensed, but only a faint rasping sound comes out and I have to swallow instead. My mouth and throat are parched. I realise I am terribly thirsty.

"Instead, you chose to flee and let down poor Atrus and me. Men's treachery is their own demise..."

My voice is back, now, and I blurt out angrily.

"I didn't! I _would_ have opened that barrier, if only you had given me the book!"

"Of _course_, you would have. Like you would never have used that Tomahna book you were so keen on rushing away with."

"_Of course not_! Why not link while I was downstairs, if so? Instead of running at you to get my head bashed!..."

Sparkles erupt before my eyes and I blink them away furiously. The pounding is back, echoing my heartbeats - now running wild, and my head feels fit to burst. It is getting hard to think clearly.

"Oh, I don't know... maybe just to rush upstairs and shut down the power, so that _I_ was trapped over there instead of _you_, and wouldn't be able to follow you. Just maybe."

"I..."

I curse myself again for my foolish action, as well as for not thinking of the obvious solution at hand. I can find no coherent answer. I am aching, I am furious, I am scared, and all I can think of is an attack to match his accusations. Blinking again as the tiny sparkles keep scuttling back, I bellow:

"..._And you_! What were you going to do with that Releeshahn book, once the shield was opened for you? Surely, you would have taken the time to thank your old friend Atrus properly before you went, wouldn't you?..."

He doesn't reply instantly, maybe he is troubled, I don't know, I can't see clearly - but I do not care any more. I just plough on now, draining all my fear and frustration through my hoarse shouts, like a snake strikes again and again, draining itself of its venom. I point a condemnatory hand at him, so frantically it makes me stagger.

"... You would have kept Releeshahn! ...You would have - _destroyed_ it, dumped it, like you said! You never wanted a deal, all you wanted was revenge! You sought nothing more than to make him suffer, did you? _This_ was your true goal... why you were expecting him!

...To kill his family... to destroy his people, and their world! It's all written in there-" His journal is still in my bag, I take it out and hurl it at him, sending pages flying everywhere as it misses by more than two feet and hits the wickerwork pane on the right instead, making the light of the lantern dance over the whole scene. "- you sick... twisted..."

Black clouds have eaten my vision, and now I sink to my knees, head in hands, shaking, nauseated again. Drained. I need water...

When he speaks again, his voice is a burning whisper, hissing with barely contained anger. That much registers on my mind, but not the words, not all of them at least. Not yet.

"I'll tell you what my _true goal_ is... I want my people and family alive and in peace. As they were before. I want my world repaired. I want to live the life that was stolen from me twenty _years_ ago. I needed Atrus to fix what could be fixed of Narayan. And now that I know my people survived... _all I want is to join them_."

Numbly, I glance at him through my fingers. He hasn't moved, but his knuckles have whitened and his eyes are ablaze. I blink and cower back.

"For that, all I need is to get past that cursed shield. And you will help me do that. Whether you want it or not."

He turns on his heels. I can hear him go.

I feel somewhat relieved, yet I can't let him.

"Wait. _Wait_..."

He is almost up the stairs, so I shuffle backwards to call out:

"I need water. I really do. Please..."

The metallic door closes loudly behind him. _Bastard_.

Yet a few seconds later, it is reopened, just long enough for a leather flask to be thrust at me.

I scramble hurriedly to grab it as though it could fly away from where it lies. Then, flat on my back again, I drink deeply, thankfully letting the cool liquid soothe my mouth and throat- and even it seems, lessen the strain of my headache.

Good god.

He was right.

He was _so_ very right.

In a fortnight, I'll be just as nuts as he is...

I have drained half the flask, and now, watching the curved top of the outer shield lit by the bluish glow of the bunker's shaft, I listen to my slowing down heartbeats. I wish I could see the night sky and the stars instead. Never had I expected that feeling trapped would have this kind of effect on me. I did expect fear. I did expect anger. I did expect hopelessness, and even hunger and thirst at some point.

But nothing could have prepared me to being turned into that rabid, caged-... _creature_, within less than fifteen minutes!

As things slowly settle down inside my mind and I recover a somewhat more normal state, I realise what I have just been saying, and doing. I even have the decency to feel slightly ashamed of my words. And not only ashamed, honestly...

Stupid, stupid me. Just _the_ man to cross. The very man who has your life between his hands, who has Releeshahn, who has the Tomahna book, who has- the bloody _food_ and _water_...

And you just yelled at him, compared him to the two people he hates most in the universe. Smart move, squeebrain.

And I liked to think of myself as someone rather calm and thoughtful...

But _this_ has nothing to do with solving puzzles. Even the most intricate, Atrus-ish puzzles, even those where your life is at stake. Because puzzles still leave you with some kind of choice, some room for action.

_This_, is about helplessness. This is about waiting. And fearing.

And hoping, because you can't help hoping. That's something I just found out.

How amusing.


	3. Part 3: Of deadly plottings

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Myst or any of its characters.

**Spoiler warning**: You should have played "Myst III - Exile" entirely before you read.

**Thanks so much**, as usual, to **Aurélie** from NC for her useful guidance and corrections.

**And** **thanks to my reviewers!** Yay! I hope you'll like the rest, people... :)

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**Whacked**

**_Part 3: Of deadly plottings._**

-

I wonder how late in the night it is.

I try to listen hard, in case I could catch a hint of what's going on inside the bunker, but there is only the constant crackling of the shields.

The wretched shields.

I get up and walk to the inner one. Run my hand on it.

It feels exactly like ice. It is as cold. As sleek, despite all the irregularities of the surface.

Except that, when I take it off, my hand is perfectly dry.

I should probably sleep. Especially if my temper is getting so unpredictable, and anyway since I don't know anything of Saavedro's plans... I might as well proceed under the assumption that whatever he has in store for me, I'm going to need some rest.

The thing is, _I can't_.

I feel reckless; the idea of inaction is repulsive to me, probably because I am reduced to it. So I start picking up the journal pages scattered on the ground instead. I gather them, put them back in the right order, by now accustomed to the Narayani numerals, and vaguely astounded that none of them is missing. I stuff the journal back inside my bag. Pace a little. Fidget with the grille. Pace again.

Those shields really radiate cold. The air is chilly now, much cooler than by day. I cast a longing glance at the tapestries, they look thick and soft, and what use are they now? If I could get downstairs, I would be able to cut off one or two.

...Or would I? I feel my inside pocket, suddenly remembering - yes, it is still there.

My small flick knife. Did old Saavedro neglect his search, or did he consider it of little use, like his journal and this of Atrus? Probably the latter, alas. I still prudently shuffle closer to the wall, where I can't be seen, before taking it out and flicking it pensively.

The stair is blocked all right, but... the grille?

It is ridiculous to tiptoe like that, but I can't help it. Anyway, I am determined to make my attempts far less noisy now.

Crouching next to the woven branches, I study them shortly before making my pick. That thin one again, actually. It is not that thin, now that I compare it to the size of the ridiculous blade I hold. But it is the thinnest. And heck, it is just wood...

Placing the sharp edge on the smooth bark, I start cutting.

It is not a quick business. I don't feel like I am making any progress at all, and all the while, for some reason, I can feel his burning eyes on my back. I am far too nervous, that is not good. The blade keeps shifting between my fingers. I cut, and cut, and cut... I wish I had a watch. That's not the first time, probably not the last.

After what feels like a long while, I remove the knife to have a look.

_Three scratches_. Three ridiculous scratches in the bark, oozing tiny droplets of sweetly perfumed sap. Maybe, just maybe the central one is a bit deeper. I'm not sure.

_What_ kind of wood is that?

Rubbing my eyes, I seethe and hesitate, blade hand hovering near the branch. I won't abandon that project but- still; I have to take in account that this is going to be a long term one. And I have no idea how long my time here will be. I'm not even sure of what would be best, short or long. Somehow, both sound bad.

And anyway, once on the other side, what would I do? _I_ have no bunker, and no hammer. Not to mention I still probably wouldn't be a match if I did.

I rub my eyes again and pocket the knife. I'll probably find some use for it later. Won't I...

Conquered by the cold and the tiredness, I retreat to the gondola. It is the only spot that feels like some kind of shelter, or refuge, and though there isn't the faintest gust of wind (obviously), I can't help but imagine that it might be a bit warmer inside it.

Sitting on the wickerwork bottom, I cast a last wary glance at the grille. At the upper platform. This sight brings the tiniest burgeon of an idea in my mind, but I am so tired that it just won't take shape.

Later perhaps. I need rest. And food too... but mostly rest.

I lie down on the creaking interlaced work, curling up as tightly as I can against the cold, and pull my thin mantle closely around me.

The prospect of my "knife project" eases my reckless mind just enough for me to drift off into an agitated slumber.

_WHAM_.

I gasp and jump, snapping awake as the thunderous metallic crash still vibrates in the unnaturally still air.

_WHAM_. I can't help but jump slightly again, just before sitting bolt upright and squinting groggily over the gondola's rim.

It's daytime.

The light makes me shelter my eyes.

Saavedro is out on the upper platform and... -_WHAM_- ... he has apparently undertaken the demolition of the place.

For a moment I think he has just cracked up -finally, and is using his hammer on anything at hand. Not a reassuring perspective, but I soon realise I am very mistaken.

What he is using is not his old hammer, for one thing.

It is something much bigger and heavier, something metallic and misshapen, probably once scavenged on one of the lesson ages and stocked here in his bunker.

And there is method in his hammering.

I get up, sway a little as the gondola swings slightly, and stretch my back sleepily- all this without taking my eyes off his trashing about.

It looks like he is steadily knocking down the furthest barrier of the upper platform. He is not carrying Releeshahn, probably left safely inside his bunker. As dishevelled as usual, though no longer wearing his tapestry-robe (probably too precious and too warm for this hard work), he keeps rhythmically slamming his makeshift sledgehammer on one of the spindly metallic stakes, the furthest on the left.

I get out of the gondola, pick up the leather flask and take a swig from it, my stomach groaning for some food. If the water wasn't this precious, I would also gladly splash some on my face to shake off the remaining doziness - instead, I rub my eyes and sit cross-legged, still observing him curiously.

As the first stake seems to start giving way a little, he abandons it to set off pounding the second one instead. From what I see, his face is calm and determined. He gives no sign of impatience, or of acknowledging my presence. He just keeps pounding, with astounding strength and endurance in fact, for someone this undernourished and weary-looking. Admittedly, skinny he may be from lack of proper food, but you cannot say that his build is exactly weak. And I of all people know that he _can_ hit hard.

...Wham. ...Wham. ...Wham. Next stake.

Maybe he _has_ cracked up, after all.

Yawning, more from hunger than from sleepiness now, I stand up and pace about a little, idly looking around. My fellow prisoner's fad might have been intriguing at first, but now it is getting slightly boring, not to mention annoying. The noise drives me nuts, and with him out, I can't go on with my... -_plan_. If you can call such thing a plan.

I look at the grille again. This night, it had given me the vaguest hint of an idea, I think... but... what was it?...

The crashing sounds suddenly stop, and I look up. Having reached the fourth stake, Saavedro has paused to mop his brow and have a look at his progress. From here, there isn't much visible "_progress_", apart from the barrier looking slightly lopsided and dingy now. I raise a sceptic eyebrow.

And just then, as though on cue, my treacherous stomach gives one of the longest, loudest growls I have ever heard it utter. Embarrassed in spite of myself, I swallow and contract it, hoping that it will be stopped or muffled - but Hammerman has already turned his head.

_Fine_, it will just spare me the trouble of asking, then. I would have had to, sooner or later.

"...Yes, you are right. _Lunch time_."

Smiling his usual crooked smile while staring at me, he drops his tool, rubs his hands together and laughs wheezily, looking positively cheerful. If I didn't know better, I would be tempted to think that he enjoys having company. Or rather, this excuse-of-a-company. But his sudden change of mood should much more likely be attributed to this new plan of his, and _this_ is nothing to be pleased about.

As he enters his lair without bothering to close the door and I hear him trashing about, I decide that I might as well take advantage of these good dispositions to try and ask about it. It cannot hurt to know. _Unless it is something very horrible and painful and you can do nothing about it_, says the little voice, but I quickly shut it up. I can't afford to start getting to pieces.

In a matter of seconds, he is back out, carrying a small earthen bowl full of various kinds of grain, and, enclosed in a wide, yellowish folded leaf, what looks like dark slices of dried meat. That's what he seems to be chewing on, himself. Some decent part of me can't help but feel slightly revolted, especially when thinking back of those little furballs on J'Nanin and Edanna. But the other, starving half is way past caring, and I can feel my mouth watering. Anyway, let's face it: what choice have we got?

"On J'Nanin, I have a nice supply of fresh fruits from Edanna. That's a pity I can no longer go and retrieve them, they are going to be wasted. Some of them are quite tasty, you know."

"Erm, yeah... Saavedro..."

He stops just before the stair and turns around, beaming. _Almost_ sympathetic. He must have been a joyful man, once. It makes my question feel even more awkward.

"Yes?"

"I... was wondering... will you tell me..."

I drop my gaze, searching for words that wouldn't sound accusing. Not surprisingly, I don't find them.

"... I mean, you intend to get away from here, and you said-"

His grin widens, but somehow, right now, it seems more dubiously taunting than really scary.

"You mean, the plan? Ah, but... That wouldn't be very _fair-play_ if I told you about it just now, would it?"

Now, his chuckle is eerie all right. And that twinkling wink, too. He disappears in the stair, and I can hear his voice drawing nearer:

"Don't worry, though, you won't have to wait for too long. Until _tomorrow_, in fact. Tomorrow, your curiosity shall be satisfied."

He is downstairs, now, and that last sentence is uttered through the grille, in a toothy, wide-eyed grin that foretells no good despite its undeniable cheerfulness. Maybe _because_ of it, actually. Bending, he sets the bowl of grain and the leaf on the ground, some thirty centimetres from the woven branches. For an instant I suspect some twisted trick, but then it certainly isn't far enough to be just out of reach. And he is once again speaking in that matter-of-fact tone that could almost make him sound like any gracious host.

"If you need more water, you will have to give me back the flask. Do you want it refilled now?"

I am about to open my mouth when, as he straightens up, his gaze falls on some spot of the grille and his smile falters. I stiffen, watching his face harden.

"...Though it seems you are not so deprived of energy."

He bends down and swiftly takes back the meat in the leaf, then makes to leave...

"Enjoy your meal, then."

...But turns back at the last moment.

"_Oh_, and one last thing..."

He plants his searing blue gaze into mine.

"... If you hurt the lattice again - I shall kill you."


	4. Part 4: Of sleeping among the frost

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Myst or any of its characters.

**Spoiler warning**: You should have played "Myst III - Exile" entirely before you read.

**Thanks so much**, as usual, to **Aurélie** from NC for her useful guidance and corrections!...

**And** **thanks to my reviewers...**

-

-

**Whacked**

**_Part 4: Of sleeping among the frost._**

-

Maybe I should take out that knife right now and start singing out loud while stabbing at those branches right under his nose. So that he kills me.

Or maybe I should jump headfirst from the platform like I thought earlier, yes, the time probably has come to do that.

Or to do anything that would end that wretched, relentless, deafening _pounding_!...

I am sitting inside the prow of the gondola, my back to him, pressed against the wickerwork, teeth gritted and both indexes in my ears. And I am starting to believe that in fact, this is all part of a mysterious, worldwide conspiracy to drive me nuts.

I have even ripped off bits of papers from the blank pages of his journal, chewed on them and stuffed them in my ears, but it is no good, the noise is far too loud. Even the vibrations themselves are transmitted through the gondola's cables, and I can feel them inside my bones.

I thought this guy was rather tough, but I was wrong.

He can't be a "guy". He's a machine.

He's been hammering that barrier for _hours_ - I might not have a watch, but I still know it has to be hours. I've been counting the hits. Yes, at some point I did, overwhelmed by boredom and being unable to ignore them anyway. I even ticked them on paper, wasting some of my ink on it. What could I do?...

When he reached 10.758 hits (from the start of my count), there has been a great metallic moan - I stood up then and saw that the fence was finally down. By changing places regularly, he had managed to cut it off without bending its rim - what for, I had no idea; I was only relieved that it was finally over...

That's when he started off again on the _second_ barrier.

Then I gave up counting.

Now, the afternoon seems to be drawing to an end, my headache is back, and the second fence (the closest one) is seriously bent.

If he is not careful, it might fall down when it finally breaks, and I might use it as a ladder then... yeah, and squees might fly.

Actually, all my hopes rest on the coming of the night. He will _have_ to stop, then.

Won't he.

I can hear his hits are less frequent now. So he _can_ get tired. I mean, it's already a miracle he is still standing, after all what he's done. I'm starving although I've basically been doing nothing, and he hasn't eaten so much more than I did. He's going to need a break. And some sleep.

When he's finally shut in, I will at last be able to act, in my turn.

Because now, I have a plan.

During all that waiting time, I've remembered and clarified this idea that had sprung up in my mind last night, looking at the grille. And though the odds of success are quite scarce, it still _might_ work...

Night.

At very, _very_ long last.

And I am probably not the most relieved one...

It was almost dark when the second fence gave in and broke. Saavedro had tied it up with bits of string, near the end, so that it didn't fall - and I am not sure that he _could_ have held it back by himself, at that point. During the last moments, his blows had been getting quite laborious, and much slower. I could often hear him panting, and he had to stop many times, during which he leaned heavily on his makeshift sledgehammer, closing his eyes, probably not daring to sit down in case he couldn't get up again.

So apparently, it _has_ to be ready for tomorrow.

Maybe we're short on food and water...

Now, both fences are lying on the upper platform, and I am savouring the silence as Saavedro rolls up his twines in a ball.

Before he goes, I ask for my flask to be refilled. He comes down the stair, swaying slightly, leans wearily on the grille and extends his arm without a word. His face is even more worn out than usual; it looks skeletal in the lantern light that casts dark shadows under his red-rimmed eyes. Yet when I give him the flask, he smirks faintly and gives a short nod, then half-rasps, half-whispers: "..._Tomorrow_."

Saavedro makes his way back up, leaving me a bit uneasy as usual, and eventually thrusts the refilled flask back at me from his doorstep, like he did the first night.

And I am left alone.

I count five minutes, just to be sure.

It is likely that he is already fast asleep, actually, but I don't want to take risks. I drink deeply to somehow pacify my grumbling stomach, then I put down the flask on the wickerwork bottom and turn back to the grille.

Yes, it _could_ work.

Seen from the gondola, it seems very possible to _climb_ it.

The branches above are a bit more spaced out, but it still looks doable. I need to try. If I am able to do that, and if I can train enough to do it quick, I might stand a chance. He didn't bother to close his bunker's door, once or twice today. This might be his mistake.

If he does it again tomorrow, I'll try to find a way to lure him down the stairs. Then it will be a question of timing. If I can shut myself inside his bunker, I'm safe, and I have the books.

"_And you leave him to starve here_", says the little voice.

Shut up.

...And no, I don't. If I can go up, he can go down. He'll understand what I've done, so all he'll have to do will be to switch the shields by himself and go down.

"_One way is not always as easy as the other..._"

Shut. Up.

...Anyway, what choice do I have?

From the foot of the grille, things are not this obvious though. My feet keep slipping on the smooth bark at every attempt, and I cannot afford to fall once I get higher. I take off my shoes.

After some time, and not a few efforts, I reach the top of the grilled door. I extend my hand, grab the first upper branch... And I begin realising I won't make it. There is simply too much space between them. I still try to heave myself, joints whitening, reach out in the direction of the next one... much too far. And if I put my feet higher, I'll be unstable. Those branches are too slippery to risk that.

Sighing, I gingerly make my way back down. Anyway, I wouldn't have been able to make it up there in time.

But there is still the second solution. I don't like that idea too much; it will take a lot of precious time, and imply parting with my mantle. I already almost froze in my sleep last night, and I was wearing it... if only I could get my hands on one of those tapestries!...

I will also need to scavenge something... maybe from the gondola.

Well.

There isn't much time, so let's get started.

Sitting at the prow of the gondola, I regretfully take off my mantle and flick my knife. Shuddering a little in the growing cold of the night, I steel myself, and start carefully shredding the fabric into even strips, teeth clenched to keep them from chattering.

After a long time of shredding and braiding, my hands are numb, my eyes sting and my brain tends to wander a little in the hazy realms of slumber - but most of all, I am in possession of a good ten-feet makeshift rope. It's Saavedro, really, who gave me that idea when he tied up the fence. His strings seemed to be made out of some twined creepers, probably from Edanna. Well, my cord might not be as elegant, but hopefully it will hold.

Now, for the grappling.

My inspection of the gondola doesn't feel too promising, the wickerwork could be cut, but it isn't nearly as strong or as heavy as needed - and I really don't have the skill to put it into the right shape anyway. The bigger parts are too solid to be detached with my excuse of a knife.

I lift my eyes, examine the metal casing the cable goes through. I feel it with my hands... the left part is open. Maybe inside... yes. It contains small metallic parts. The thing is, can they be taken out?...

After painstaking moments of blind fumbling, grasping, and getting quite a few of my fingers pinched in the process, I am eventually left with a small assortment of metal pieces, of various sizes and shapes. More fiddling - along with tricky brainwork and fortune crafting, and something like a good half an hour later, I have something that does not resemble a grappling at all, but is still misshapen enough to stick into or get entangled with whatever it hits - providing it isn't plain metal or rock. Which, luckily, it is not.

Now is time for action.

Hopefully it will shake off this numbing cold...

The main problem will be that I can't really afford to miss. If I hit metal, 'Whacky' wakes up, and havoc ensues. If I don't secure the grappling well, I fall down -possibly breaking a bone or two, he still wakes up, and all hell breaks loose. If I hurt branches, he sees it at some point, and the world ends. But no pressure, of course. Can't afford it, can I...

Eventually, I decide to secure the grappling once and for all, and to practice climbing only. It will be safer, and anyway that's the real tricky part, because tomorrow it won't matter very much if I hurt the wood or if I am noisy - he will be after me no matter what. Speed will be the key.

Taking aim carefully, I start swinging my makeshift rope. I make to throw it, then falter at the last second. I try again. And again...

_Darn_ it. No time to chicken out. Just _do_ it!

I glance at the bunker, then back at the woven branches. Come on. Focus.

Look at the spot where you want it to land. Think of nothing else... _Especially_ not of him. No, especially _not_, I said.

...Hopeless. _Fine_, think and tremble and cower all you want I don't care, but _still throw it_!

And I do.

And... it looks like... it has worked. Somehow. I pull on the rope, it seems to hold. Approaching the grille, I tentatively suspend myself to it. Nothing budges. _Perfect_.

Positively vibrating with excitement, I start climbing. It is not exactly easy, but the rope helps a great deal, and in no time I am up there.

Up. There.

_Free_.

It takes a few seconds to register, during which I stay crouched, panting slightly. Then I stand up, look at his door... and repress an incredible, sudden, insane giggling fit. My skin feels prickly, as though surrounded with static; and as I take a few tentative steps on the now fenceless platform, the urge to scamper, leaping and roaring in joy is almost excruciating.

I know that nothing is sorted yet; I know that the hardest part is still to come, and yet I can't help the sudden giddiness that creeps on me.

I am no longer stuck.

I have access to both levers, and that suddenly feels incredibly _empowering_.

I _know_ that the hissing sound would wake him instantly, and yet I am _dying_ to pull them. I can't bring myself to go back down, my feverish mind tells me that there _must_ be _something_ I can do right now. That this is my chance, the only one I'll _ever_ get. Which is probably true. Although I know the possibilities of action with those levers to be very scarce, in my feverish mind they suddenly seem numerous, almost infinite. I can't help but mull over the few possible configurations again and again, simply aching to escape this wretched place and this mad man. And I must admit that one of them in particular - open the outer shield, hurry back down the rope and jump into the gondola before he can cut the power - is getting dangerously seducing.

_Idiot_.

Stop wasting time, and stick to the plan.

You're in no condition to think, so don't do _anything_ that hasn't been settled before.

Blessing my silent bare feet, I tiptoe towards the stair, reluctantly tearing my gaze from the power lever. I must check. I must search for the books, even if there is no chance at all that he left them here. Just in case. Then I must go back, and practice climbing the rope quickly.

I feel so strange, to be on the other side of the grille, now... I can't help but stop by it for an instant. Seize it. I also stop by the lever, brushing it longingly, but I quickly resume my search. Of course, I don't find anything. Muffling a sneeze, I realise that it is no longer the excitement that causes my trembling. I finally caught something. The night is going to be awful without my mantle, I could already barely sleep last time... And those tapestries, useless and mocking! But if I cut one, _he will know_. And I can't get one from downstairs, the noise of the shield will wake him. Damn.

I hesitate, glaring at them, then purposefully walk back up the stair, sniffing.

I just hope he won't notice I've got a cold, or my lack of coat will get _very_ suspicious.

...After what feels like hours of training, I finally estimate that this is it. This is the fastest I'll manage. Anyway, I can't go on. I am exhausted, I keep sneezing every few seconds, and I must get some rest before tomorrow. Halfway up the grille, I extend an arm to try and dislodge the grappling. It comes smoothly, and I know I could see no wound in the branches from up there. This all sounds like the perfect plan. _Bad sign_, says a superstitious part of my mind that's been growing recently. I don't even listen. The hunger is now like a permanent aching hollow in my midriff, which only adds to the weakness in my knees and the fuzz in my wary head. Rolling up the rope and stuffing it under my clothes, I stumble to the gondola where I groggily slump down. The least I can say is that I am not feeling well. Within seconds, the cold starts seizing up my limbs.

But my eyes just won't stay open anyway.

_Tomorrow_...


	5. Part 5: Of stake, stakes, and mistakes

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Myst or any of its characters.

**Spoiler warning**: You should have played "Myst III - Exile" entirely before you read.

**Thanks so much**, as usual, to **Aurélie** from NC for her useful guidance and corrections!...

**And** **thanks to my reviewers...**

-

-

**Whacked**

**_Part 5: Of stake, stakes, and mistakes._**

-

It is almost a relief to see the dawn.

This unending, feverish alternation of numbly dozing off and groggily waking up, interlaced with half-awake nonsensical nightmares and aggravating coughing fits, was even worse than staying awake.

Apparently, Saavedro is as anxious to start his day as I am to start mine. Hearing the door of the bunker open, I quickly get up, trying my best to conceal the hump of the grappling under my clothes. If he leaves that door_ open_, I _must_ find a way to lure him downstairs.

Almost immediately after standing up, I regret doing so this abruptly. My head spins and my vision blurs for a second, so that I have to hold onto the rim. But that is not the worst. The weakness that penetrates all my limbs, their suddenly immense weight, the unsteadiness of every move I make... all goes to show that I am much more seriously ill than I thought. That would be nothing of course, a mere cold - if it weren't for the climb. It was already hard this night, how am I supposed to make it up there in time now?...

Yet, there is no turning back.

I shall at least try.

He has not let the door open.

He is sitting in the middle of the upper platform, fiddling with the fences again. He's got his ball of strings too... he seems to be tying them up together, end to end, connecting and solidifying them with a third, oblong piece of metal that must come from inside his bunker. More scavenged material.

It doesn't sound like he's had a very restful sleep either, from the look on his face; yet his movements bear no trace of yesterday's exhaustion and he seems quite alert.

I drink from the flask and clumsily slump down, sitting just like the previous morning, willing the strength to come back to my limbs. Willing my head to clear, and my eyes to stop stinging. Convincing myself that it will soon disappear with the sleepiness...

Saavedro stands up. Grabs one end of the two tied-up barriers... lifts it... and keeps hauling- _what_ on _earth_ is he doing? He seems to be trying to pull them up vertically...

Halfway, though, he frowns, looks up critically as though measuring something, then puts everything back down on the floor with a resounding _clang_ and gives a half annoyed sigh, straightening up, fists on his hips.

Is he really trying to reach the top of the outer shield? But... _it is no good_. There would be absolutely no point in...

_Oh_. He is entering his bunker. Expectantly, I half stand up -exasperated at how tedious that feels.

He comes out with his arms full of other metal pieces - _too full to close his door_. My heart starts thumping. This is my chance.

As he puts down his things I stand up, at the ready, cursing the slight spinning in my head as I do so. Nervously, I check that the grappling is right at hand - _will I be able to take it out in time?_... and I launch myself, calling him before he can turn back.

"Saavedro."

He looks down, slightly annoyed at being interrupted. But he isn't heading back to the door, and that's what matters.

I wave the flask at him - it is almost full, I hope this won't show too much. _How could I forget to empty it?_ I'm definitely not right...

"...I... could you refill the flask, please?"

"Sure."

He extends his arm.

Drat.

_I can't just throw it at you. You came down last time, and yet you were exhausted! Why now?..._

"Uh... I am really no good, you know, I... anyway I don't feel right, and, er..."

"_Fine_. I see."

Looking all the more annoyed, he makes to move towards the stair. Blood pounding in my ears, I'm already fumbling for the grappling - but he makes an abrupt double take, and I start as though I had been stung. _So close_.

I pretend to be scratching my side, desperately watching him come back.

Don't go back to that door. _Don't go back to that door..._

"...You didn't have much to eat, yesterday, did you?"

_You know something of it, bastard._

"Er - not much, no..." _But I don't care!_ "I am mostly thirsty, though, actually..." _Come down_ and fetch my flask, now, please, _please_, for pity's sake...

"You need food, though. It is true, you do not look well..."

What the squee got into you, playing the caring mommy now whereas you bashed my head just a fortnight ago! _Come down!..._

"I... I'm OK, really, I just need-"

His gaze is scrutinizing.

"Where has your coat gone? Are you-"

"I took it off. I was - er, feeling too hot. So you see, I'm thirsty, now, and..."

I must _suppress_ those shudders, right - _now_. He nods shrewdly, eyes narrowed.

"_Fever_. You'll need some water, but you'll need your coat too. _And_ some food."

Is it a sudden guilt trip? Is it just a side-effect of him being a bloody lunatic? While ago I might have thought that it was a spark of humanity left under the gruff paranoid hide but right now all I see is that he is _not_ going down after all, and from my perspective, this feels _very much_ like deliberate taunting.

"I'll get you some. And I've got weeds that will help, too."

"Er - _no_, look..."

But he is already back inside his bunker. Sh... -'_shorah'_.

I wait anxiously, biting my lips and shuffling on the spot. I vaguely wonder at how many things he managed to stuff inside this bunker of his - but then I hear him stop his fumbling and I tense.

Here he comes, with more grain and some dried meat in a leaf, also clutching a small tuft of dark weed. He passes the door. Hesitates. Glances at the food then at me - god he must know, he _has_ to be trying to drive me hysterical! Actually, there _is_ something suspicious about this glance, but I just can't work out meanings at the moment...

"...I... hadn't planned to do that right now, though... well..." He's mumbling, speaking to himself it seems, throwing sharp glances at his surroundings - the fences, the shields, me again... "... I suppose it can't hurt anyway... yes..."

The rest of his mutter is indistinct. He studies me a little longer, as though sizing me up, then seems to make a decision.

And swiftly closing the door behind him, he heads to the stair.

Done for.

Everything down the tubes.

I stand rooted to the spot for a second, flummoxed, before remembering the flask is still half-full in my hand.

I jump to the edge of the platform and squeeze the leather as hard as I can, but the spouting gush is so thin... it is far too slow. The splashing sounds have already given me off. And I can hear him reaching the grille.

I stiffen.

"...Will you be all right?"

_All right_? What does he - _oh my_. Oh my, _yes_, that's the idea...

My back still to him, kneeling near the edge, the flask clutched against my stomach and out of his sight, I do my best to comply with the explanation he has so kindly imagined for me. I do not answer, breathing heavily, then I produce a convincingly gagged noise while pressing the flask again. _Splash_. Yuck, even to my ears this sounds convincing. Perfect.

In two or three gushes, the job is done. I stay crouched there, heaving, just a few more seconds - six or seven should do the trick; then I straighten up, conveniently shaking. No need to work too hard for that, alas.

Eventually, I stand up and stumble towards him.

He _does_ look concerned.

I feel a slight twinge of guilt at that - though I wonder how I can, considering my current predicament.

"Are you all right?"

He picks up the flask through the grille, and hands me the dark weed instead.

"There. Chew on those, slowly. It will help."

He looks uneasy, sounding like the guy who has trouble bringing himself to do something. I glance doubtfully at the tuft in my grasp, deciding I might as well be careful.

"...I will. Thanks."

He sighs in annoyance and plucks a few weeds from my hand, stuffing them in his mouth.

"It is not _poison_. See?"

He chews rapidly, then swallows, grimacing.

"It's only very sour. Go ahead, have them."

It seems he won't feel right until I've eaten the darn things. Very well, then... I frown and fill them in my mouth, marvelling at the thought that _I_ am the one who has to ease his guilt complex.

Yuck, this _is_ sour. It tastes like absinth. Only chewing once or twice, I swallow hard, unable to hold back a grimace myself. He nods.

"Good. You'll see... you'll soon be back in Tomahna. If everything proceeds as planned, tonight you'll be fine and back home - and so will I..."

He smiles his creepy smile, but it doesn't look like the creepiness is intended. _What_ _do you feel you have to comfort me for, now... or am I just falling deeper in paranoia?..._

But he has regained his gruff countenance.

"Right. Now, there's still work to be done, so if you will excuse me..."

Once again, he sets the grain and meat some thirty centimetres from the grille. This time I don't bother wondering why, and as he turns away I kneel and eagerly extend my hand through the woven branches.

How imprudent.

In the blink of an eye, a claw-fast hand catches my wrist, making me jump out of my skin in the process, and pulls my whole right arm through the gap so that I am roughly slammed into the grille.

"_HEY!_ Why, you - are you _mad_? What have I done?... I didn't hurt the lattice again, I promise, I-"

"I know you didn't."

He has brought my arm against the wall leading to the stair, and though I can't see, I can feel he is strapping my wrist to it - probably with some twine-string again.

"But wait! Wh-"

"Part of the _plan_. Can't have you running around."

He tugs at the string, checks that it holds.

"_Running around_? Where do you want me to _run around_! I'm as stuck as a squee in a trap, _untie me_!"

I keep trashing about, realising that no matter how I contort, there is no way for my left hand to reach my strapped right one. I _am_ stuck.

He comes next to me, blandly addressing me through the grille:

"No."

"But-"

"_Atrus_ will untie you. Shortly."

I start panicking. There goes his delirium again, and I have no way to bring him back to reason. If he doesn't untie me, _no one_ _ever will_. I take a deep, steadying breath, forcing myself to stay calm, willing my voice to remain to a normal pitch. Since I am now stuck with my back to the grille, I have to watch him over my left shoulder to meet his eyes. Those unsettling, insane eyes I would much rather avert - but I have to make him listen.

"Saavedro... _look_. Atrus isn't there, and he won't come. Ever."

"He will."

"He _can't_." I can hear my voice climbing one or two notches. "He _can't_, or he would already have! I am pretty sure that the J'Nanin book was burned in that fire-"

"It was. But that does not matter."

"What do you mean, 'that does not matter'? How do you know if he has another one? And even if he did, how do you know it didn't burn as well!"

"He does not have another one. I checked."

"Then _how_-"

"I've been spending quite some time reading through Atrus's books. It has been tedious, and dangerous since at every second I risked being discovered - but it has also been highly instructive. You see, there are two kinds of books..."

_A lecture on books_. Just what I need. But the manic glow is back in his eyes, now that he's talking about his plan again, and I dare not interrupt him.

"...Some, like that J'Nanin book that burned, or all of the others you used on the lesson ages, are called "linking books". You can make many of them, leading to the same age. But none of them would work, if it wasn't for the _descriptive book_."

I find myself intrigued in spite of myself.

"A descriptive book?"

He leans forward, eyes wide:

"It is the _very first_ book that you write to link to an age. All the later linking books are mere copies of it, and only incomplete ones, _summaries_ of some sorts - the descriptive book is much bigger. Much more powerful too... terribly powerful." He squints. "If you modify the descriptive book - _you modify the age_. That's what I read. That's what I wanted Atrus to do, until I realised that my people still lived out there. And there is something more."

He smiles a wild smile that makes me want to recoil - if only I could.

"Without that first book, none of the linking books can function." He grabs the fabric of my sleeve, leaning even closer; and I wince, half turning away as he speaks right into my face. "Do you understand what that means?... _All the books still work_. The descriptive book is not in his home, but it still _has_ to exist, we have a proof that it does. It must have been left in some safe place, in a wretched age of his, and right now, I can tell Atrus is heading to retrieve it. Because he wants Releeshahn. Because he knows by now that _you won't bring it back by yourself_."

He draws back, chuckling madly without taking his eyes off mine, looking as enthusiastic as though he had just told me the best joke ever. I gaze at him in bewilderment. He winks:

"...And according to my estimations, he should arrive shortly."

He points upwards, grinning.

"That's why I must get everything ready."

"What are you getting ready? What will you do?"

"No time right now, but you will see. You will soon see..."

He stands up.

"Wait-"

"Be patient, my friend. _And eat_." He pushes the grain and meat through the grille, beside me. "I left you one free arm, just for that, so use it. I'll be right back with the flask."

With one last grin, he leaves.

I am vaguely shocked at how my hand starts immediately and ravenously filling my mouth with handfuls of grain whereas my mind is still so completely preoccupied by his plan. As he comes back with the water I stop, my mouth full and feeling slightly self-conscious; yet he doesn't even look at me, his thoughts already back upstairs. I take the flask, then resume my gobbling.

I can forget about my plan with the grappling, obviously. No good luring him downstairs if I can't untie myself, and anyway from where I am I can't see if his bunker's door is open or not. Even if I found a way to untie my arm, I couldn't casually walk forward to check, he would see me.

This distresses me more than I could say, of course, and _yet_... -yet, I don't feel totally desperate, like I thought I would.

Why?

Is it that unreasoned, irrepressible spark of hope I found out about on the first night?

I listen pensively to the metallic sounds of Saavedro's pottering around, upstairs, while unfolding the yellowish leaf one-handed. I pick out the first slice of dark dried meat and take a wolfish bite out of it. It is hard and elastic; I vaguely notice that it tastes bad, the way I imagine shoe soles would taste. And it is extremely salty. I take another huge bite, chewing hard, then drink.

What am I expecting to happen?

What am I hoping for?...

Is it what he said that has indeed comforted me? Could it be that I believed him for one second?

_Maybe for more?_

_He said_...

I take another bite and slowly chew on it, the aching void in my stomach gradually fading.

He said it would soon be over.

He said Atrus would come, and untie me. He said I would be back in Tomahna tonight.

I shake my head and scoff, smiling faintly.

Laughable.

I drink and take another handful of grain, but my stomach feels full now. Probably because I ate too fast, since I didn't have so much food. Satiated, feeling pleasantly drowsy, I think of Tomahna.

Of the veranda, of the beautiful plants... of the breathtaking view. The birds. The wind.

The noises change upstairs, with more walking and dragging, less fumbling. It pulls me back from my half awake state.

And then I understand.

I realise what I am hoping for. I realise what made me able to almost fall asleep without a single course of action in mind.

_He_ is the course of action.

I'm hoping for his plan to _succeed_.

_Fool._

_Idiot._

_How can you believe for one second that things will be as he said? That he will let you both return home in peace, without seeking revenge, without harming you in one way or another?_

How, indeed...

Maybe out of exhaustion? Or selfishness?

Maybe I no longer care for Releeshahn, and Atrus. Maybe I no longer care for his people. His _whole_ people. _Thousands_ of men and women.

Whom I never knew of.

Maybe that's it.

I think they have a name for it, when a hostage or a prisoner ends up siding with his captor. They say it is quite frequent, though I didn't use to understand how it could be.

In fact, it simply feels like the most obvious path, the easiest one. To go with the flow. And I am indeed exhausted.

I can sometimes see the end of a swaying pole made of tied-up pieces of metal, abovehead. The one he has made out of the fences; and now he has lengthened it with his scavenged metal pieces. He is pulling it up again, measuring it, trying to reach our sky of ice. My hand scrapes the bottom of the bowl. It is empty. There is one slice of meat left, but I no longer feel hungry anyway.

I rest my head on a branch of the grille, eyes fluttering as I follow the makeshift pole's progress.

The weakness and the weight of my limbs are back, but in a dull way. Almost a good one.

I am resting under a tree from my homeworld. A beautiful pine tree; and I can see its longest branch swaying above me. Resting against its bark, I let the sun slowly warm my limbs...

_That hiss_.

I haven't heard it for days, and yet somehow it is even clearer in my memory than it used to be before.

_That_ hiss, I could distinguish between any hiss from any of the machines Atrus ever made. Any hiss from any machine on any existing world.

Snapping awake, I start as though I had been slapped, wildly looking around as the ice melts away to be replaced by-

_By the world_.

By a coral sky, the light of a real sun, the incredibly far-reaching horizon.

The sounds of wind and of the sea far below rush into my ears, thunderous, and yet sounding like the most beautiful music I've ever heard.

My lungs are suddenly filled fit to burst with fresh, exquisite air carrying thousands of incredible scents. My skin shudders with pleasure under the caress of the wind, and my eyes roam wildly over the whole scenery, as though they could rob it and keep it forever enclosed under my lids.

It almost feels like too much, and yet I can't get enough.

I realise I have half gotten-up, and my right hand is numb from straining on the ties.

And - I realise that too, now - I've not been straining randomly either. Rather in one very particular direction - this of the gondola. Heck, I understand what he meant by "running around". If I wasn't tied here right now, I doubtless couldn't answer of my actions any more. I am suddenly half scared of myself. What inconsiderate move will I make next, when I get the chance?

The scrambling resumes upstairs, meaning I probably wasn't the only one startled by the view. The swaying pole is back, and it does look longer. Probably long enough to reach the top of the shield, if it was still there. I realise how tedious it must be to raise it single-handedly, he must have found some way to secure it with ropes, or something the likes... and even so-

There's a sudden scraping sound, like something metallic had just slipped, then a loud clang that makes the whole pole vibrate.

"...-_Sk'chaa!!_"

No need for a translation.

The pole sways ominously for a second, and I can hear Saavedro groaning as he strains to hold it back - then it abruptly changes direction and swings backwards, out of my view. Another exclamation is then drowned by a loud crashing sound - and an ominous vibration that seems to shake the whole ground, making the gondola swing. Am I imagining things, or did I distinguish a tearing noise in that crash?... I crane my head uselessly, almost cricking my neck, straining on my ties again.

"Spirits, _no_, not _now_..."

"_What_? What happened?"

No answer, I can hear more groaning instead, as he is probably trying to pull the whole thing back. Indeed, the pole is soon visible again, and eventually stops swaying. He must have secured it.

And now that it is still, I think I can make out something familiar tied to its end...

_The hiss again._

It is incredible how heart-wrenching it can be to see the sky disappear. I bite my lips to prevent myself from yelling at Saavedro to turn the power back on.

This all has to stop. And to stop soon.

Before I go round the bend for good.

I sit back and sigh slowly, willing my heartbeat to return to normal. Quick footsteps on the metallic stair warn me of Saavedro's arrival. I turn my head, make to ask about what happened, but he rushes to the lever without casting me a glance, turns it and dashes back upstairs. Then there is the hiss again, and despite the wickerwork pane I can see the inner shield melting.

This time, I don't even strain. I keep control. Instead, I look up at the pole.

It seems that its very tip is caught inside the ice shield. Saavedro is apparently shaking it, as though to dislodge it. Then the shaking stops, and instead the pole is being rotated on itself. The part caught in ice must be tied up to the tip by some string, because it is visibly independent from the rest. After a few turns, the twine snaps, and the pole is slowly drawn back.

I squint.

Oh god.

I _know_ what's up there.

Footsteps in the stair. I turn my head so abruptly I almost crick my neck, once more.

"_Saavedro_."

He enters my... -lair? Prison?- and comes to face me, hands behind his back. As soon as I set my gaze on his overstrung face, his insane smile, his fiery eyes, I know he is in a dangerous phase. No good trying to reason him.

And yet, heck, what choice do I have?

I heave a quick sigh and swallow, but no words come to me, all I can do is repeat myself.

"Saavedro..."

"Yes. You know, don't you? You guessed what it was."

My eyes flick briefly to the little dark rectangle in the ice, far above. He nods, grinning:

"Didn't you?"

My free hand curls in a fist beside me. I glance at his hammer. Then I rasp in a somewhat subdued tone:

"... _Releeshahn_."

He nods again, smile widening, giggling in a broken voice:

"Yes... _Releeshahn, yes_..."

His giggles turn into chuckles, then into a lung-tearing, wheezy laughter as he slowly pulls something from behind his back and holds it before me.

A heavy, padlocked book.

My eyes widen. The insane cackle doesn't sound like it would come to an end.

"...That's what Atrus will guess, too!..." More wheezing.

"But-"

"_What then_?... Can't you tell?... Tomahna of course. It is only Tomahna, up there."

He points up. I lift my eyes. Indeed, the shadow is quite small compared to the book he holds, now that I think of it. But what if the ice damages it?

As I look down, he seems to have read my mind:

"Don't worry, it will be fine." His laughing has stopped, now, to be replaced by a mingled expression, between spite and malice.

"But wh-"

I am interrupted, as another ominous tremor shakes the whole place, making the lanterns and the shadows sway. I instinctively hold onto the grille, but Saavedro jumps on his feet and takes a few hurried steps backwards, looking at the upper platform in an anxious manner that makes me extra nervous.

"Saavedro. _What_ happened up there, when the pole fell backwards and everything shook like that?"

After a second he looks down, and his face is completely changed. He seems worried and restless now, though much more sane in a way. He stares at me gravely.

"...It punctured the spore."

To his tone, he might as well be announcing me that he has triggered a nuclear bomb by mistake. I stare at him blandly. He sighs in exasperation.

"_The spores_! The spores are what keep us afloat above the ocean! The pole wasn't smooth, bits of metal stuck out from it. The fences' stakes just punctured one of the two main spores that uphold this tree, and I have no way to mend this."

I gape at him, now bewildered.

"You have... you mean, _we're going down_?"

"The tree is doomed. It would need a new spore to stay afloat, and I can't get one obviously; so yes, we are going down. The only question is, when."

"_When_?" Panic starts whirling in my mind. _I am tied up to a giant tree about to tumble down into the ocean, because some lunatic punctured it_. "What do you mean, '_when_'? Are we-"

"It's a question of hours. The thing is, I don't know how many hours. I only hope that Atrus will make it here in time."

Incensed, I bang both feet as well as my free fist on the ground.

"Saavedro, _I told you_, Atrus is _not going to come_!"

"He is."

"He - _isn't_! Look, I don't care what your theories about books say, or if he can find a way here or not, there is still _one odd out of ten thousands_ that he will be here today, just because _you_ wish him to do so! We both need to leave that flying coffin, and we have the bloody means to do it! _Why_ don't you just-"

In a blink of an eye he is before me again, gripping the front of my shirt, his wild face inches from mine, and my words get stuck in my throat.

"_He will come_. He will be there shortly. He will switch the shields for me and set me free. And then... then you will be playing your part."

He spat those last words. I have a hard time bringing myself to ask, in a slightly shaking voice:

"-My part?"

He releases me gradually, a slow grin spreading on his face, which has a manic feeling about it again.

"To tell him where the _real_ Releeshahn is." He straightens up.

"And... where will it be?"

He smiles. Why do I feel I don't want to hear the answer to that question?

"You should know it by now. This world is about _balance_." He nods in the direction of the tapestry room behind me and gives a short, mirthless chuckle. "In the same gesture, Atrus will be setting me free - and setting _himself_ free, since this will give him back the Tomahna book. It should fall around here," he jumps on a spot approximately beneath the little rectangular shadow in the ice, beaming, "as soon as the barrier is down. It is only fair."

He holds out the padlocked book again.

"As for Releeshahn... Well his sons _did_ ruin my world, you know. They spread death and destruction, annihilating what we all had been working so hard to construct..."

"Saavedro, no-"

"...Wouldn't it be only justice, if I-"

"_No!_"

He holds Releeshahn over the edge of the platform again, grinning.

"No? Then tell me why."

"Your people are not dead, are they? They weren't killed off! You can't kill off his!"

"I didn't say I would. For all I know, the D'ni haven't moved into Releeshahn yet."

"_Some_ of them might already have, though. Maybe _many_ of them!"

"Some of my people died in the war, you know. _Many_ of them did."

"_But the D'ni have nothing to do with it!_ Look, don't destroy Releeshahn, please, I-"

"Oh, but I am not going to destroy it. The fall might graze it a little, all right, but the padlock is strong, it will keep it closed, not a single page will be so much as dog's-eared."

"But it will fall into the sea as soon as the shield is off!"

"Yes, it will."

I feel horribly helpless. What can I say, _what words_ do I need to pronounce to bring him back to reason... To _stop_ him...

"Saavedro... I... Don't you understand? Atrus didn't destroy your world. _His sons_ did. He _never_ intended them to do so, he-"

"He can't have cared too much, though, can he? If he had, maybe he would have come back to fix things, but he didn't. Not until I took away his precious Releeshahn. He didn't."

He is not grinning at all now, on the contrary looking deadly serious as he glares right into my eyes, his arm extended above the void, holding the book.

"Atrus hasn't destroyed my world _directly_, that is true. He let others do the job for him. Well, I shall do the same. I won't be the one pulling the lever and dropping Releeshahn into the ocean."

"_Saavedro_-"

"_He_ will."

And he let go of the book.


	6. Part 6: Of ups and downs

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Myst or any of its characters.

**Spoiler warning**: You should have played "Myst III - Exile" entirely before you read.

**Thanks so much**, as usual, to **Aurélie** from NC for her useful guidance and corrections!...

**And** **thanks to my reviewers...**

-

-

**Whacked**

**_Part 6: Of ups and downs_**

-

From the moment he dropped that book, I have fallen into a curious, half-aware state.

I remember I shouted as the book fell. Then I remember I heard it hit the surface of the outer shield, then slip towards its bottom.

I remember he didn't laugh.

And then... -then my head was like filled with something woolly.

Every sound was muffled, every shape was blurred. I watched the world as it went on moving at a weirdly accelerated pace around me, but I didn't really care for it. I was too busy taking in that fact: _it was over_.

Releeshahn was lost.

I was wrong when I thought I no longer cared about it; in fact I was only fantasizing that Atrus and I would end up retrieving it. I was lulling myself, because I was too exhausted and at a loss of anything to do.

But I do care.

Hell, yes, _I do_.

Partly because of Atrus and his people, of course. And partly, I must say, because it is the very reason why I am here. The very reason why I rashly jumped into an unknown book with no way back, why I went through all these ages, all these puzzles, and eventually ended up here, trapped and scared and helpless.

All this for _nothing_.

I would have been of more use if I had stayed to help Atrus with the fire.

I shake my head disbelievingly - I _try_, that is. But it is shackled.

Ah yes, of course, I remember. He has gagged me. _In case Atrus arrived_. And the gag is attached to the grille behind my head. Weird.

Absent-mindedly, I raise my free hand to take it off - but of course I can't. I had forgotten he had also tied my left elbow to the grille. Or maybe I just didn't notice. This way, unable to raise my arm completely or to bow towards it, I have no means to reach the back of my head. The best I can do is bring the flask to my lips - which is probably the whole point.

I notice the inner shield is back, too. What for, I don't know. He'd probably rather have the power shut, in case Atrus came.

I sigh, then shuffle slightly. This sends pins and needles all through my legs and arms. I have stayed immobile for too long. Cringing, I slowly try to shift my position, temporarily making the prickling ten times worse.

_Ouch_.

What was that against my back - Oh, yeah, the grappling... I had forgotten about it. It must have slipped around my midriff and landed there. I'm lucky that nutter didn't find it when he tied me up. I had better get rid of it, now...

Hey, but wait... _no_.

Oh, no, _not at all_.

Good god, this sounds like the _rashest_, the most _stupid_ plan I ever... but it _could work_! I could even grab Releeshahn in the process...

As before, finding a plan is like seeing the sun rise again, I feel like giggling despite all the odds against me.

Suddenly quite awake, I lift my eyes, totally pointlessly as usual. But I _know_, I am _sure_ he is back in his bunker. That's what he always does when waiting. Contorting again, I eventually manage to slip my hand inside my clothes. No need to fumble for long before I snatch the makeshift rope, and gradually pull it out, eventually extracting the misshapen fortune grappling. Yes, it does have some sharp edges, here and there. Perfect.

If Saavedro come out right now, I am doomed.

But he won't. _He won't_. He mustn't.

Slowly, carefully, I put my hand through the grille, doing my best despite the gag to crane my head on one side, then the other, trying to estimate the distance with my strapped right hand. Then I start swinging the grappling. It isn't easy, with so little freedom of movement in my left arm. But the angle gradually increases. When I estimate it is enough, I open my right hand as widely as I can, and I throw the grappling.

My hand grabs frantically, but finds only air. The assembled bits of metal fall on the ground with a dull clunk. _I hope he doesn't hear it_...

Laboriously, I pull back the rope, then prepare to try again.

Not until the ninth try do I feel something brush against my right hand's fingers. Then another rumbling shake makes me fear that _he_ might come out. I wait and pray and cross my fingers, and he doesn't.

There goes the tenth, the eleventh, the twelfth try. No progress. I stop counting the tries.

After what feels like years, I _finally_, at _long_ last, grab it with the tips of my fingers. Hurray.

Moving very carefully, fearing to drop it, I feel it, looking for the sharpest edges. One of them seems adequate, and I eventually manage to slip it under the twine circling my wrist. I start sawing.

It feels like it is digging in my flesh as much as in the rope, but after a moment, I can feel the twine snap. Heart swelling, I slowly extricate my hand, feeling the string loosen then limply fall to the ground.

I've got my right arm back.

I gingerly pull it through the grille, not surprisingly finding it cramped and aching, then I can attack the knots on my left elbow.

In no time at all, I am free, and my gag is off (the latter being quite relieving, since dubious fabric doesn't taste good and my jaws were starting to ache from remaining open like that).

I get up and stretch, half noticing that a good part of my weakness has evaporated. _Maybe those weeds actually _did_ help, after all_.

Looking up, I can now see the extent of the damage done to the spores. One seems slightly crumpled, the punctured one, only held limply by the branches. The others, on the contrary, look like the extra pressure is straining hard on them. How long will they hold?...

I lift my eyes to the little rectangle of the Tomahna book.

I know it is the only one I really need. I know what I am about to do is going to waste precious time, risk having me discovered, and is likely to fail anyway. Not to mention it is going to be highly dangerous. _Lethally so_.

Yet I can't just leave Releeshahn and do nothing to at least try retrieving it. I just can't. Maybe the knowledge that the tree we are standing on is about to fall into the sea has made me rash, I don't know.

Using the lattice coils of the platform's rim, I carefully secure my grappling, sticking it as effectively as I can.

Then I grab the rope, and climb over the edge.

After painstaking moments of hanging between two walls, one of wood and one of ice, scorching my knee and knuckles against the bark, I reach the end of the cord. Luckily, the curved, translucent bottom of the shield is near.

And in its centre, beckoning, almost at hand...

I hesitate.

I will be able to go down without hurting myself, all right.

But what about climbing back up? The ice is slanting and slippery, where my feet touch it. I will need to reach that spot, and to stand on it to be able to grab the rope again... I could really use some extra length.

Sighing, still holding onto the rope with one hand to keep myself from slipping, I pull off my shirt with the other. Thank god, it has long sleeves. Trembling madly, I fasten one of those to the end of the mantle cord, thus gaining a few more feet. Then I let go.

I immediately slip on the sleek surface, tumbling on my bare back down to the bottom where Releeshahn lies.

There I sit up.

This all feels surreal. Not only to have that padlocked book back, but also to be sitting here, in that eerie glow, on a curved, half-transparent surface, hanging over the void. I can glimpse the ever-moving sea in some places, and also the huge roots of the tree...

But I can't afford to be mesmerized like that. Trembling like a leaf in a storm, I shake my head, pick up the book and tuck it safely in the back of my belt. It's a pity I couldn't bring my bag, but it would have hampered me even more. Then I brace myself, and launch forward at a run. The ground is awfully slippery, not before the third attempt do I manage to grab the dangling sleeve of my shirt. _If I hadn't added it to the rope, I wouldn't have made it_, I think nervously. _Yes, but you did. Come on. Don't waste time_.

And I start climbing.

God, it is awfully harder than going down...

Halfway up, I am no longer cold at all. Panting, I wish I could let go for an instant, just to relieve my sore arms.

And just then...

_RUMBLE_...

It has to be the greatest shake we have experienced yet.

I close my eyes and grip the cord desperately as it swings with me, praying with all my heart that the grappling holds... the shake seems to last forever... and as it eventually stops, I can see from the angle of my rope and from what shows through the shield that the ground is no longer horizontal. A sudden tearing noise makes my heart jump - the strain on the second spore must have been too strong, it must have broken too... Darn, we're short on time... The crash of the bunker's door being opened makes me jolt all over again. Hurried footsteps ring on the metallic upper platform.

_Please, don't let him come down. Don't let him notice the grapple. Let him go back inside. Quick..._

The cold is back, and my muscles are seizing up. If I can't get up there soon, I am going to _let go_... But after a few seconds that feel like hours, I hear the footsteps resume slowly again, and the door close.

Throwing caution to the winds, I decide that he has to be inside and not out, and I resume my desperate climbing, as fast as my aching arms will allow.

Hell, I didn't know I was able to do that. I probably ain't, it must be what they call the "energy of despair". However, as unlikely as it might feel, I eventually reach the edge of the platform; and I even somehow find a way to haul myself on it. There, I stay spread-eagled for a moment, panting, trembling, unable to move, my arms feeling as though they were on fire.

It is true; the platform _is_ lopsided, now. And several spores look crumpled, the most slender of the branches that used to hold them now collapsing around them.

I sit up and roll back the rope as fast as possible, then hide it inside the gondola along with Releeshahn. As I put my shirt back on, I realise that those weeds he has given to me are truly miraculous. I would never have made it if I had been half as weak as I used to be this morning, and also, I realise I haven't been sneezing in quite a long time...

Retrieving my bag, I stuff the big padlocked book inside it and hoist it safely on my shoulder.

Now, all I need is the way back home. And I already know how I can get it quickly.

And "quickly" isn't just a bonus, as I slowly realise with horror. _This is not an illusion..._ the ground is _permanently_, slowly, steadily titling. Within minutes - at best, - the only way not to slip and topple over the edge will be to stand inside the gondola.

Steeling myself, I take out my small flick knife and open it.

Time has come for nasty psychology.

On either extremity of the gondola, two metallic wheels secure it to the cable. A small one on the top, and a bigger one underneath it. What holds those two pulleys is strong, finely crafted wickerwork. The only problem with wickerwork, is that you can easily ruin it wholly by cutting just _one_ little strand. And if one strand isn't enough, well... what about one more? And another one?...

Reaching for the rear of the gondola, I already cut off a few of them, first to make sure that I can, then to make it visible that I won't hesitate to cut more.

Then I brace myself.

And I shout.

"_SAAVEDRO!_..."

No answer. Of course. But now, I've got his attention.

"_SAAVEDRO, COME OUT IMMEDIATELY AND DROP THE OUTER SHIELD, OR I SWEAR I WILL CUT THIS!!_..."

How foolish this all sounds. _The rashest plan ever_...

I think I can hear some scrambling. I also hear a low rumble, and the ground titles a bit more. I cut out a few more strands, heart beating, feeling sweat collecting between my shoulderblades.

"_I GIVE YOU TWENTY SECONDS! AFTER THAT, YOU WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO GO BACK TO YOUR HOME AGAIN! ONE_..."

More rumbling. We probably don't even _have_ twenty seconds.

"..._TWO_..."

The door crashes open, and a wild looking Saavedro erupts on the upper platform, full tapestry gear on, hammer in hand. I grit my teeth and try to keep my hands steady. Cold sweat is drenching me. He squints.

"What - _HOW_ did you... WHAT ARE YOU _DOING_!!!"

My heart skips a beat as he rushes towards the stair. I yell:

"STOP!! Or I'll cut this off _straight away_!..."

He hesitates. I realise I'm heaving. I call out:

"The lever is on the outer shield position. I checked. _Don't go down_. Stay where you are, and put the power back."

He grits his teeth, a dark look on his face, and I hope fervently I can conceal how scared this makes me. A new tremor makes both of us stagger, but he doesn't seem to care.

"...And what good will it be for me to do that? Once you're gone, I will be stuck here all the same!"

He makes to head for the stair anyway, but I know he's probably just trying my nerves. _And_ _God, does it work_... I hastily bark:

"_You won't!_ I've got something here, a means for you to come down once the shields are switched." He snorts in disbelief. I go on forcefully: "_I know_, there is no proof, but if I cut this you can be _one hundred percent sure_ that you won't make it back home. _Ever_."

He hesitates again, visibly unsettled, hatred etched all over his face. Now, the tremors have merged into an ever-present, low rumble, and some slender branches above the most crumpled spores are swaying ominously. The progressive titling of the floor is getting more perceptible, and my jaws clench painfully. He points his hammer to the ground, lifting a sceptical eyebrow.

"...And Releeshahn? You know what will happen when I pull that lever, don't you?"

That's what I had been awaiting. This is my chance to make him understand how determined I am. And maybe, in the process, to make him feel that he can let me go and still somehow have his revenge.

Despite my heart running wild and the sweat trickling on my back, I try to sound fierce and offhand. I shrug.

"Well it is doomed, now, isn't it? But who cares? Do you? Do I? I used to, yes, but as I told you, your precious Atrus didn't come, did he? He knew we were both stuck, he knew we had the book, and yet he didn't come. You know what? You were right. He soon gets tired of his toys. He got tired of me, and he got tired of his people and their new world. Why bother bringing it back, then?"

He ogles at me in disbelief.

"You... no longer care?"

I shrug once more.

"Is it my world?"

Apparently, this was the wrong thing to say. He bristles immediately and snarls:

"You do not _deserve_ that I free you. _You're no better than he is._"

He prowls purposefully into the stair, grasping his hammer, and I start panicking.

"_DON'T!!!_"

God, this wasn't supposed to develop that way! I didn't expect to actually have to cut it off...

"I'LL CUT IT!!! _I SWEAR!_..."

Hating myself and feeling hopeless in the meantime, I wildly rip out a third of the remaining wickerwork, making it as noisy as possible. He dashes back up the few steps he has taken, looking very alarmed. Apparently, it's dawning on him that I'm actually going to do it. Then again, it is dawning on me, too.

For a few seconds we both stare at each other, heaving, dishevelled, with the same look of panic and disbelief in our eyes. But I can't afford to give him time to recover, and the ground is getting more and more unstable. I plough on, as threateningly as I can:

"_Do it now, _or we both die here and right away! I count three! _One_..."

His eyes widen.

"Wait!"

He looks at my hand, holding the knife against the ruined wickerwork. I don't even know if it could support someone as it is now, and apparently, he is thinking along the same lines.

"..._Two_..."

"_WAIT!_ How - how will I go down?..." There's a definite edge of panic in his voice, now. He seems about to fall to pieces, but then I feel the same.

_What am I going to do if he doesn't obey?_ I feel sick, my head is fuzzy, as though I was going to black out. I threateningly move my knife against the remaining strands, probably looking as desperate as he does.

"Th-"

"_STOP!_" His voice has broken.

He flings himself on the lever and feverishly pulls it. Before I even realise what he has done, the hiss resounds again, accompanied by a deafening rumble. The sky, the light and the wind are back around us, but I do not care. I jump forward to catch the little greenish falling object. The ground I land on is inclined by nearly forty-five degrees, and now keeps titling at an alarming speed, in an ominous chorus of splintering wood and bending metal. It was apparently further unsettled by the disappearance of the shield. I slip and scramble as the book hits the floor a few feet from me and starts sliding as well. I lunge forward wildly, grab it, slip again and eventually land into the gondola - that mercifully holds - then look up as an echoing yell rings from above.

Flat against the upper platform's ground, fingers desperately gripping the metallic grille of the floor that is now nearing vertical, Saavedro is trashing about madly, holding on for dear life. He casts desperate looks at the gondola, yet doesn't seem to be expecting any help from me.

And actually, from a purely logical point of view, helping him (and thus facing him again) is probably the most stupid thing to do right now, short of jumping into the sea.

Yet - is it that "siding with the enemy" thing again, or maybe my own little guilt trip - I can't just link away like that. They say that desperate situations can bring the best or the worst out of people - well then I suppose this has to be the "best" that will make up for my earlier "worst".

_Or rather, quite the opposite..._

Without thinking, I grab the fortune grappling.

"Hold on!"

And I fling it, feeling like the world's biggest idiot. It clangs loudly, rebounding against the metal. _Damn!_ I throw it again. In vain. I am too panicky to make it. The metallic moan is deafening, now, and I can see we're slowly going down. Alarming creaking sounds echo all around us as the place is falling apart, bits of wood and metal tumbling past us. Looking up desperately, I make a third try, promising to myself that it shall be the last one, after what I will link no matter what. It is even shoddier than the previous ones - but Saavedro doesn't give the grappling time to fall down again. Legs flailing about, holding on with one hand, he catches it and roughly shoves it into a random gap of the metal grille - now truly vertical.

Then he lets himself slide along the rope, using its swinging motion to jump and land into the gondola. Which goes to show how life on Edanna can be instructive. Impressive.

The salvaged part of the gondola creaks ominously as he lands; it must really be some amazing piece of work, if only not to have given way under my single weight - but _both_ combined _plus_ the impact... anyway, I have already decided for my own good not to add to the weight for longer than necessary. Picking up the Tomahna book, I make to open it...

It would have been so simple, so easy if I had been able to do it just _half a second_ earlier.

But I wasn't; and just then, several things happened at the exact same time.

Saavedro, by a manoeuvre I will never know off, launched the gondola, which started gliding and gathering speed, in the ear-splitting moan of the damaged metallic casing whose innards now constitute my grappling.

The tumbling giant tree gave a last, massive tremor, as some major part of it seemingly broke; and its fall suddenly accelerated.

The jolt was transmitted to the gondola, through its cable, and then to me, hurling me against the wickerwork rim.

_And I dropped the book_.

"_NO!_"

Ice spreads through my veins as I wildly throw myself after the tiny, tumbling object.

The world ceases to make sense but for that one and only fact: I cannot afford to loose it. The roaming ocean no longer means danger, death itself no longer exist. Hands hold me back, and I violently struggle against them, against the ever accelerating motion of the gondola speeding me away from Tomahna with that deafening metallic whine, separating me from the only way back.

Then the book hits the ocean, closely followed by the giant tree in a colossal surge of water and a thunderous, unending crash, which sends huge, surrealistic rings of waves across the foaming surface.

I hardly notice the latter, only staring at the receding spot where the little dark dot disappeared, mesmerized.

Then coral clouds swallow it, too.

And I keep staring.

"...We're gathering too much speed... what did you do to the gears - _oh, Spirits_..."

The first cable-holding small tree goes down, dragged along by the cable, and I keep staring.

"Well, it can't hurt to be fast right now. But the arrival is going to be more of a problem. And I think the casing is overheating..."

I keep staring as the second one follows.

"_Oh, my_... I... I can see them... _I can see them!_..."

I keep staring.

"They're gathering, they saw us!"

The third tree goes down. I keep staring.

"...-much too fast - _hold on_ - Oh, _Weaver no_-"

CRASH.

It is dark.

The whining has stopped, but I can hear many people talking animatedly. I don't understand what they are saying, and my head is aching again. I'm aching all over.

I open my eyes, and I see a group of men busy severing a cable hurriedly.

_The cable_.

I remember, and close my eyes again.

Someone has come near me, someone is talking to me gently in that curious language. A girl. I keep my eyes shut, I do not care about the world.

"S- Saavedro..."

Apparently I still care a little, because this makes me look by reflex.

"..._Saavedro!-_"

A few feet away, a man dressed in red and gold tapestries is being helped on his feet. The woman who seems to have called his name is emerging from the crowd, panting slightly, and looks at him in frozen disbelief. She is not young, her face is marked by sour lines, and yet she is astoundingly beautiful, with her thick, red hair scarcely striped with pure silver, and her mesmerizing, lush-green eyes, wide with disbelief. Her lips slowly form a trembling, tentative smile.

As he sees her, the man straightens up fully, suddenly unwavering. He stays immobile too, but I can't see his expression.

Then he slowly opens his arms, almost hesitantly, and she dashes at him. As though she had been waiting for this signal to know that it really _was_ him. That he actually was there.

Everything is dark again.

I can still hear the woman quietly sobbing, and the man, muttering rapidly and endlessly in her ear, as though in prayer; a prayer in which her name is repeated time and again, like a mantra.

I can hear the chatting of the crowd. The girl near me, now joined by someone else.

And the sea, far below.

My face is wet with tears, I couldn't precisely tell why. And why care, really?

But it is harder than expected, to stop caring about the world. To convince oneself that "_this is all over_", that "_nothing can be done_". I should know, by now.

Insidiously, I start listening. Analysing the sounds, and the tone of the voices. Trying to understand what's going on, what these three nearby are bickering over, what are those exclamations. Thinking...

And as always, as unexpectedly as before, for no reason at all - the spark of hope is back.


	7. Part 7: Of what’s left to say

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Myst or any of its characters.

**Spoiler warning**: You should have played "Myst III - Exile" entirely before you read.

**Thanks so much**, one last time, to **Aurélie** from NC for her useful guidance and corrections!... You really saved my life on that chapter, Aurélie ; I owe you a lot:-)

**And** **thanks to my reviewers...**

-

-

**Whacked**

**_Part 7: Of what's left to say (epilogue)_**

-

I open my eyes and sit up, rudely ignoring the two people nursing me. Some people _are_ starting an argument, here. It is more than just bickering.

What is it, they're holding?... _Oh_.

The contents of my bag are scattered on the floor. Pages of Saavedro's journal are lying discarded, as well as my broken inkwell and my quill.

But people are now passing Atrus's journal from hand to hand, and a tall man is holding up Releeshahn, talking loudly in a not-so-serene tone.

Some people now look slightly worried; some women are gathering their children anxiously.

And I suddenly find myself at the centre of a big void.

_Uh-oh._

The faces looking at me are not hostile – well, _some_ of them might be, but most are essentially nervous and intrigued, slightly worried.

The man with the book comes to me, and I stand up gingerly.

Brow furrowed, he speaks, holding Releeshahn in front of him. Asking me a question. I open my hands in puzzlement, then look expectantly over in Saavedro's direction. I can't see him what with the group of people surrounding me, and anyway he probably can't think of me right now. I don't blame him, really, yet I certainly could use some help at the moment...

The tall man sighs in annoyance, and an old lady leaning on a finely carved staff moves forwards. She smiles politely, and hesitantly addresses me in another language I do not know, but that definitely reminds me of something. She speaks again, and then I understand. This is a very mangled, very distorted version of Atrus's home language, the D'ni.

_Oh, the irony._

I shake my head apologetically.

"No, I am sorry, I don't understand the D'ni either. I-"

But the tall man has turned away and started speaking again, brandishing the book and sometimes pointing at me. _Bad sign_.

Not all of the people gathered here seem to agree with him, some even seem to protest, but quite a few still visibly strongly share his point of view, and they are not the kindest-looking ones. Eventually, I am gently but firmly grabbed by the shoulders, and find myself carried away by a little group.

Now, this is going a bit far. Deciding that he has had plenty of time to rejoice, I call out Saavedro's name. Hopefully he will remember that I threw him the grappling. Hopefully he will forget that I have sided with Atrus, sabotaged the gondola, threatened him, and hurt some lattice...

Some people turn their heads, but I am still being dragged away.

"Saavedro!"

Through a gap among the crowd, I glimpse him. He is still with his wife, two young women have joined them and he is hugging them. He is transformed, at least ten years younger, beaming with his face still drenched with tears of joy, talking to them animatedly.

But he is not looking.

"_Saavedro!_..."

He turns his head abruptly, still beaming, glimpses me and gapes in surprise - then the gap closes in and I can no longer see him.

Shut. In. _Again_.

I can't believe it.

This has to be a curse.

_Of course_, they are being very decent, and the room is not small, and there is light, and there are sounds, and scents, and I have been given plenty of _real_, delicious food, and a bed, and blankets. Sure, it is a _hundred_ times better than what I used to get over there on the shields' tree, a mere day ago.

But it still is a prison.

And right now, this is enough to drive me mad.

The burning anger inside of me is like a white-hot coal. I no longer talk - what good, anyway?- and I no longer make any effort to even look presentable. I spend my time prowling in circles like a caged wild beast, lurking sprawled in corners, glaring at anyone coming near.

Any time I am being fed, I wolf down all the delicate fruit, perfumed fresh bread and nicely cooked fish without taking time to appreciate how wonderful they taste, devouring it greedily and disgustingly.

I've been given a large tub filled with water, and _I know I stink_ - but I do not care, or maybe I am happy this way. I only used it to splash some on my face, or to somewhat smooth back my now dishevelled hair, temporarily preventing it from falling into my eyes.

_And him._

_Saavedro._

Turns out he didn't forget what I wished he would, did he?

Or maybe he simply doesn't care. Now he is home, with his wife, his girls, his family, he is free and happy, why would he do anything about me? After all, I am one of these despicable book-writers.

_Oh God_, Saavedro, _right now I wish I were one_, you know... Right now, I wish I had the Narayan book between my hands, and the knowledge of how to make a few - _changes_ to it...

The wooden twig I'm holding snaps between my hands. It was part of a wooden Narayani game someone thought good to put in my jail, probably hoping it would provide me some decent, pacifying occupation.

But I don't know the rules, and I do not care. I wish I had my flick-knife instead. Oh, they searched me all right. And they were right to. _Because I would have used it_.

I can hear some noise nearby, someone is coming. Voices are talking animatedly in Narayani language, and one of them is oddly familiar.

I half stand up.

Two people reach the woven door, one of them seems to be trying to dissuade the other from doing something, but the familiar voice insists, and the first man eventually shrugs and opens the door.

I do not rush at it. What good? Where would I go?

And the second man comes in.

And I recognize him.

_Sort of._

Oh my, never would I have believed such a change of appearance was possible.

Dressed in elegant pale-blue robes, his formerly matted hair now soft and lustrous, neatly combed and sprinkled with small beaded braids, he has barely anything left from the scruffy, untamed cave man I knew.

His face, above all, is unrecognizable. It is indescribably younger, but something else than years is missing on it. Something crucial, I can't tell what. It has been replaced by a radiant kindness that looks totally misplaced on those half-familiar features. Or rather, totally new. Because "_misplaced_" is certainly not the word. My resentment against him is momentarily stunned.

During the same time I am taking in those astounding changes, he seems to be doing the same in reverse. An expression of mingled horror and incredulity slowly floods his ever so vivid eyes, and I suddenly feel very self-conscious.

"...Spirits... _what_ have they _done_ to you?"

I try to hold myself straight, not hunched like some hulking ape, but that no longer feels natural. I shrug.

"Nothing."

He squints slightly.

"You can tell me, you know."

I feel very ashamed of myself, and I shuffle, incredibly embarrassed.

"No, no, I told you. They didn't do anything. They were very - _very nice_. I just..."

No longer able to find my words, I just shrug again and look away; then I look back and grin wryly.

"So... You're back, eh? You've changed, too."

He echoes my smile faintly, still looking slightly hesitant. I plough on, in the same awkward, half-provoking manner.

"Didn't recognize you, you know. Not without the hammer."

It feels good to make him uncomfortable like that. But I still can't bring myself to hate him the way I would like to. Not to mention he is the closest thing to a friendly face I have seen in three days. Actually, I realise now that I enjoy having him here.

I start sniggering stupidly.

Then it hits me.

It must be the look in his eyes that made me realise, or maybe the contrast between us.

I am not _going_ mad. I _am_ mad.

I have been for quite some time.

Where is the person I used to be and know well? Whose reactions I could foretell at least half of the time? Who used to make sense, and even solve puzzles, who could remain calm even on Myst and Riven, even in front of lord Gehn himself?

And I thought I could tell when I would get insane, _if_ I ever got insane... like it was a fast job! Like there was a defined frontier...

What did I expect, to see a little flashing signpost at some point, reading "_Beware, you've just crossed the 'lost-yer-marbles' deadline - Welcome in Psycholand_"?...

I realise I didn't even truly believe that I _could_ _actually_ go mad.

Suddenly this scares me senseless.

I grab the front of Saavedro's robes, making him take a step back, and planting my eyes in his, I growl:

"Look, I need to get out of here. I am going insane shut in like that, I think I'm crazy. _Get me out!_ I must get out. Do you understand?..."

"I do."

The man at the door makes to come in, looking alarmed, but Saavedro lifts a hand and he stops. They exchange a few words in that weird tongue, then he reluctantly leaves, throwing me a slightly disgusted look.

Saavedro then grabs my wrists and makes me release him, firmly pushing them back. Determinedly, I do not avert my eyes.

"...Get me out."

"I will." He's staring back at me. "Stay put, or I won't be able to help you."

I nod grudgingly.

"How? When?..."

He sighs.

"It is not that simple. I am sorry I couldn't come earlier; I tried, but you've been warded off like a pest-ridden. My people have grown afraid of books, and of those who carry some with them. They think you're dangerous and despicable." he glances at me sideways "And you're not helping matters, it seems..."

"I will! I promise. I'll do whatever is needed, from now on."

"I know you will. You already did, back on that tree, remember?" he smiles a wry smile, then shakes his head "I don't even know how you managed to untie, or to retrieve that Releeshahn book. This all feels so far, to me, now... like a different life..."

He seems lost in his thoughts for a moment, and I can see a shadow of his past self floating along his features for an instant. I say nothing. He shakes those reminiscences away.

"But this no longer matters. I'm glad you did, and I thank you for doing it. I can never thank you enough."

I'm not sure about what he means by "_it_", does he consider that I freed him? Did I, actually? I do not know myself, and I stay quiet once more, not wanting to distract him from the promising course of his thoughts.

"I tried to talk to the Elders, but they still won't let you walk around freely. There is something else, though."

His speech has accelerated, he casts a look over his shoulder as though the man at the door might understand what he's saying. Apparently, something slightly beyond the rules is going on.

"Listen. I can't stay for long, or it will look suspicious. I've been conducting my own little investigation, and it seems that I guessed right: someone might still be hiding a book or two, left from the war. I do not know if they can be of use, but... well, we shall see. I'll try to set my hands on them anyway. Maybe this way I can pay you my debt."

He smiles to me. Singing hope makes my heart swell despite all probabilities; and I smile too, not feeling like I am being repaid anything, but rather simply, sincerely and totally grateful. I slowly nod, wordlessly, at a loss of what to say.

"I am going to leave, for now. Is there anything you need? Anything you want me to ask for?..."

The gracious host again, the one who used to ask casually if I wanted my flask refilled. That must have been the real Saavedro, still surfacing, even back then.

I look around and shake my head sheepishly.

"...No. I've got all I need. I'm going to wash, I think."

"Good." He fumbles in a small purse that hangs from his belt, and takes something out of it, handing it to me. "Tamra made these for you. She says it is nothing compared to what you did for us, but she had little time, and she wanted to thank you too. The girls helped her."

Two minute, exquisitely carved wooden masks. The richness of their details and the skill with which they have been sculpted are simply unbelievable. They are beautiful, pieces of art the likes of which I have never seen.

"They are spirit masks. They were meant for you, so they will protect you if you carry them along. Do not lose them."

"I won't. ..._Thank you_."

He nods and goes.

As the woven door is being closed behind him, he throws me a last warning glance. I know he knows how it feels, and I know this look means "_stay put_".

I comply whole-heartedly, then head towards the tub.

When he comes back, it is night, but I am not asleep.

I jump when I hear voices nearby, but I do not dare going at the entrance. Instead, I stand, all but ready, at the centre of the room; my eyes glued to the door.

I have washed, I have changed my filthy, torn clothes for the fine robes that have been set there for me, I have eaten and it was the first meal I fully appreciated in a very long time.

Tending myself and acting normally somehow helped bringing me back to my senses, it seems. I do not feel like I am about to loose my mind any more, I am much better, probably much more "nice to know" too.

I have also realised, at last, how generous these people have been, considering how they must see me, and probably hate me.

But no matter how much I estimate them now, I am still aching to go.

Not to flee. _To go back home_.

Oh, I hope that these books lead somewhere I know of, or somewhere Atrus can find me...

The door does not open. The man who seems to be on the watch for me doesn't want to open it. He argues with Saavedro, looking annoyed, most likely explaining that I am not supposed to have visits at that time of the night, or something like that. But Saavedro probably has his reasons for coming now, or he obviously wouldn't have, it looks too suspicious.

Turning at me, he then does something totally unexpected. Sounding like someone exasperated, his tone completely detracting from what he says, he bluntly snaps at me:

"I have found two books. Come at the door, quick."

Then he turns back at the guard, and resumes his bickering, as though he hadn't just voiced his plan aloud but merely told me how annoyed he was at not being allowed in.

_Which is probably what it is supposed to look like._

Recovering from my surprise, I do as he said and come to the door. He barks at me, once again:

"One is titled '_Pirth'_, the other one is '_Myst_'. Would that work?" Then turning to the guard: "_M'lanee akhva yanneni! Yesht nel vaa_..."

_Myst_. I am saved! I know where to go from there... It takes all my willpower to keep my brow furrowed and my voice casually annoyed when I retort:

"Myst is perfect."

"Fine!... _Layth'mee maano ni tagvah ya. Tossa ma narli ya!_ Move on your left, to block the lantern light and keep this dunderhead from seeing your hands." He gestures angrily at the man, who looks all the more incensed and thus all the more unlikely to see anything, and who starts speaking over him. "Good - put your hand in that bag behind my back... _Ahey mani! Yosh alino man dah man_... It's the grey book. I brought Releeshahn too, they haven't seen yet-"

The guard is hardly listening to him any more, gradually raising his voice as he speaks over him. Saavedro no longer bothers to yell his instructions at me, not at him:

"Quick! He's going to attract more people! Grab Releeshahn, you can't pass it through the gap, but it will follow you as you link..."

"But... _he'll see_... you'll be in trouble-"

He slams his fist on the door, snarling at the now incensed man:

"I'll-be-_fine_! They know me, I'll sort things - now _go, quick_!"

Indeed, I can hear footsteps in the distance. There's no time to argue, and no point in doing so, even the guard is getting very suspicious now - I grasp Releeshahn, introduce my other hand under the grey book's cover and only hiss: "...Thank you."

Then my skin touches the panel, and the world dissolves around me.

As the roaring sound of the link fills my ears, my last regret, curiously, isn't for the kind, calm and generous man I've really only just met, or for his slightly idyllic homeworld.

It is for that barmy chap, that sympathetic, paranoid, insufferable nutcase I met back on the lesson ages, and who just seemed to resurface a little, just for a minute, to plan my escape.

Yes, I'll probably miss _that_ guy.

_Looking back, and from a faraway perspective, obviously._

**The end**


End file.
